Submitted by Rachel Woodlock on 26 February 2008 - 5:12pm.
"I see death everyday. People don't see death," reflects Ephraim Finch in The Shomer.
And he's correct. In the fast-paced, modern, twenty-first century Western world, we do all that we can to avoid seeing death. Magazines sell us wrinkle cream promising to give us the appearance of eternal youth; we lie about our age as we get older; grey hairs are banished with hair colourants; we pop vitamin pills and eat margarine fortified with Omega 3 and hope that death is a long way off. But that is all a lie. Death is inevitable for every one of us, and the precious few moments we are allotted should be valued and cherished: let us be mindful of their evanescence. "Live in this world as if you are a traveller passing through," said Prophet Muhammad.
Jews and Muslims are cousins in faith, and many of the practices are shared as two members of an extended family might have the same hair colour, gait or sense of humour. So as a Muslim, I watched The Shomer as an outsider, yet with a strange sense of familiarity. We too show deep respect for the modesty of our dead; we too lovingly wash them as if preparing them for prayer; we too wrap them in simple shrouds; we too shun ostentatious coffins.
The sense of community and connection that Jews feel for each other is palpable in the work that the Shomer does, preparing each body for burial with the same simple and ancient customs that have been passed down through generations. It is this juxtaposition between the modern, clinical, stainless steel environment of the preparation room, and the Hebrew calligraphy on the wall that seems 4000 years old, that is most striking. So too, the wisdom with a hint of sadness etched on Ephraim Finch's face, as someone who faces death everyday.
Strangely familiar, from a cousin in faith
"I see death everyday. People don't see death," reflects Ephraim Finch in The Shomer.
And he's correct. In the fast-paced, modern, twenty-first century Western world, we do all that we can to avoid seeing death. Magazines sell us wrinkle cream promising to give us the appearance of eternal youth; we lie about our age as we get older; grey hairs are banished with hair colourants; we pop vitamin pills and eat margarine fortified with Omega 3 and hope that death is a long way off. But that is all a lie. Death is inevitable for every one of us, and the precious few moments we are allotted should be valued and cherished: let us be mindful of their evanescence. "Live in this world as if you are a traveller passing through," said Prophet Muhammad.
Jews and Muslims are cousins in faith, and many of the practices are shared as two members of an extended family might have the same hair colour, gait or sense of humour. So as a Muslim, I watched The Shomer as an outsider, yet with a strange sense of familiarity. We too show deep respect for the modesty of our dead; we too lovingly wash them as if preparing them for prayer; we too wrap them in simple shrouds; we too shun ostentatious coffins.
The sense of community and connection that Jews feel for each other is palpable in the work that the Shomer does, preparing each body for burial with the same simple and ancient customs that have been passed down through generations. It is this juxtaposition between the modern, clinical, stainless steel environment of the preparation room, and the Hebrew calligraphy on the wall that seems 4000 years old, that is most striking. So too, the wisdom with a hint of sadness etched on Ephraim Finch's face, as someone who faces death everyday.